I Left the East Coast and Forgot How to Worry Properly

Leaving the East Coast felt like shedding off skin I didn't know i was wearing. Back at home, worry was everywhere like salt in the air. I didnt realise how much i'd normalized that feeling in me until I moved away. Everything felt so still, no more rushing trains, or ambitious coastal teenagers. I wasn't sure what to do when it got quiet. The stress made me productive, even if it was consuming me. Slowly though, that familiar hum of nervous energy was replaced with something that matches its pace. Photography helped me learn how to look again. Not just glance, but really observe. Looking through the viewfinder made me slow down. Soon i started noticing the way a shadow fell across peoples skin and kitchen tables, the blue haze of morning creeping through the cracks in my window shade. The peaceful faces of strangers on benches, groups of schoolkids laughing on the other side of a football field. It forced me to confront my nostalgia, my pace, and in some cases required me to be still. It became a way to heal, a place to worry or wallow. The camera gave me something to hold when I wasn't sure what to do with my hands. It gave me permission to wander without a purpose, to observe without judgement. The East Coast taught me to move quickly, but photography taught me to stay present. These images aren't just pictures to me, but mile markers on the road back to myself.